Spell

It’s the end of the world and you’re here to polish it like a tumbled stone -

A tooth of jasper or fluorite spat out by the seismic tides of the dirt we live on.

You’re the marrow now and how did you manage that? You’re here to be sucked out of a dead femur with the handful of bark I stole from that snake. The gold mask and hood of a person who lives in a downed city, by the flat sea, where the people don’t have anything to do but read, and dance, and taste old tongue and learn old words.

I want old words from you. And tongue. With pale, molecule-thin linen curtains hanging between us and the light behind you.

Did you notice the way your eye moves along the swell of the dirt

The same way my eye moves along the swell of your hip and my fingers trace your ribs along your back

Enough to think it’s a good way to spend the end of the world